


Professional Courtesy

by gloss



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: F/M, Gotham, gunplay kink, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Didn't know you'd switched sides. My data must be out of date."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professional Courtesy

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/).

Catwoman was his homegirl, give or take fifteen years.

He'd always been a little in love, a lot in awe (and even more in fear), when it came to her. Other than Alfred, she was the only person capable of making Bruce pause, rethink, even, possibly, regret.

So far as Jason was concerned, she was more powerful than Superman.

And she was smoking fucking hot. There was that. All the more so *now*, with some lines around her mouth, a few silver strands in her no-nonsense cropped hair, her muscles stronger, ropier, than ever.

Not that he let her win easily. The sting of her whip and thud of her blows were too good to pass up. They riled him up just right, stung and throbbed, made him feel, however briefly, like he was part of this world again.

Consider the chase -- across rooftops, around water towers, down fire escapes and up steep roofs -- as prologue. Their silhouettes against a foggy night only hinted at who they were, what they could have been.

His ankle was turned, his shirt shredded to expose his armor, and his hands lasso'ed by her whip when they finally skidded to a stop.

When she jerked the whip, he sank to his knees immediately.

"Long time no see," he said. He'd dropped the Red Hood mask into the last alley, so he squinted up at her with just the old red eyemask. His mouth swollen, there was blood on his tongue.

She shook her head.

"Ma'am?" he added, as if that were the problem.

With the toe of her boot, she nudged the holster on his waist.

"I don't want this shit around here," she said. She held the whip with one hand while she lifted the pistol free.

Jay shrugged. If he turned his wrists just so, the whip burned on bare skin. "Can't blame a guy for wanting to defend himself."

She bared her teeth and struck him across the face with the barrel.

He spat blood, then rocked back, weeble-wobbly, upright.

"You've got Los Reyes moving these into the East End." The gun hung loose, at the ready, in her hand. He spread his legs a little to redistribute his weight and leaned in, attentive. "I don't want them here. Not in my neighborhood."

"_Your_ neighborhood?" He licked his teeth and cocked his head. "Why not go all the way? Call it _your city_, you make the law, you're the dark shadow of the citizens' shriek for justice --"

She kicked him in the chest. "Watch it, junior."

Jason bowed his head. "Sorry."

Selina waited, arms crossed. She'd dropped the whip, but he kept his hands together. His neck was white as bone where his hair parted.

"I am," he added and glanced up. "Sorry. Didn't know you'd...switched sides. My data must be out of date."

"Your information's never out of date," she said.

Jason swallowed. "I think you have me confused with a certain bachelor with bottomless pockets."

"Hm." Her thumb rubbed circles on the pistol's magazine. "Last time one of you went out on your own, the city burned."

"I don't know anything about that," he said. He sat back on his heels and stretched his shoulders, loosening his posture and meeting her eye. "But I do know I'm not with who you think I'm with."

The gun dangled from her hand, rested against one latex-clad thigh. "Who are you with?"

He shrugged. "Me, myself, I. Just like always."

"Uh-huh." Her smile was false, mocking. "That so?"

"Take care of myself," he said. "You know how that goes." He frowned, breathing through his mouth, before adding, "He doesn't. Doesn't know what we do, what we have to --"

She curled her hand into a fist. "Don't you dare compare --"

He leaned forward, keeping his gaze on her face, and let his voice go high and breathy, pure Gotham street. "Wanna party, honey? Can make it real good for you."

Her posture hardened and she looked away.

"Suck it six ways to Sunday," he said and pushed his forehead against the gun. "Blow you. Your mind."

He sat back, still held himself alert and cautious, as he licked his lips slowly and extravagantly.

She shoved her goggles up on her head and squinted at him. A few crows' feet radiated from her eyes; she was too young to be this lined. He expected he'd be twice as weathered if he made it to her age.

He smacked his lips. "C'mon, honey?"

She checked the chamber, flicked the safety.

Jason grinned wide and swiped his tongue over his front teeth. "No rubber, it's fifty extra."

Selina might have winced, but the shadows fell over her face.

They regarded each other, eyes narrowed and identical smirks firmly in place.

She brushed the end of the barrel against his bruised cheek. He turned to follow it, tongue flickering out, catching it, tasting oil and powder.

His eyes never left hers. She tapped the slide against his chin and his mouth fell open, tongue wide and waiting. He was good; he waited for the date to set the pace, kept still until she thrust the gun in, and then his cheeks hollowed and his back curved and he slobbered, moaning like he'd never tasted anything so good.

His hands slipped free from the whip and cupped his crotch.

"Go on." She pulled the barrel almost free, just the head resting on his front teeth. "Do it."

He didn't move. To be perfectly clear, she kicked his hands gently.

He smirked around the gun and mumbled something. She pulled it free and he took a moment, caught his breath and spit, before he said, "Make me."

She thumbed off the safety and pulled the slide, then pushed the barrel back into his mouth. Far enough to choke before easing a little ways back. "How's that?"

He gurgled around it, the muscles in his throat working, dipping and rising as he bobbed his head. She got down on one knee and reached, blindly, for his fly.

He got it open. Her knuckles knocked against his cup. He pushed past it, his elbow jerking already. His eyes behind the mask fluttered open and shut as she fucked the gun into his mouth, scraping teeth and palate, and he yanked his cock in time.

When she was a pro, Selina had stayed -- had *tried* to stay quiet, hidden, inside her skin. Unreachable was the best way to describe it, unreachable was what she aimed for.

She wasn't unreachable now. She wasn't excited, either, but she was right here. Jason had his free arm around her calf, for balance, for -- something else, as he bit down and sucked, as he twisted and yanked at his cock.

Sweat and what might have been tears ran down his cheeks, dark like ink on his face. Spit gathered in foamy flecks around his mouth.

"I can stop," she said and tried to touch his dick. "You could --"

He jerked back, bringing the gun with him in his teeth, like a nipple, like a teat. The noises he made were like someone drowning.

She withdrew her hand. Instead, she rocked the gun a little faster, a little more raggedly, and pulled at his hair, got a good fistful that made him moan. She'd been on the receiving end more than enough to know how to pantomime this. In and out, around, twitch back and forth. His teeth clacked on metal and plastic, his eyes wheeled blind behind his mask. He sucked as if to drink down the ammo.

He'd died once; this was just a puppet show, pleasure that shredded him to the skin, then vanished.

Jason fell back. Carbon and blood coated his mouth and throat as he wiped his glove on his thigh and zipped back up. The clouds above were buxom, jaundiced and dun-colored.

He wouldn't catch his breath any time soon.

Selina put the safety back on and stowed the gun in her belt. "I'm going to keep this."

His hands spasmed against the tar paper.

"I'd tell you to stay out of the East End," she added as she swung one leg over the edge of the roof. "But I won't. Just don't bring that shit home."

He saluted the sky with shaking hand. "Yes, ma'am."

 

[end]


End file.
